Good Enough
by Madelyn
Summary: C&M... I can't do summaries just check it out :)
1. Hey Your Glass is Empty

A.N.  HI!!! Okay so it's been a while, but I'm back with a new one J  I hope you guys didn't all go and forget about me!  I was inspired to write this by the song, Sarah Machlachlan's _Good Enough, which is a great song, on a great album, by a great artist, so I hope you like it.  Also, I can definitely see a series coming out of this if you guys like it.  I leave a lot of questions unanswered, so if you are interested in seeing more, let me know with a review!!!  Good to be back, and hope you're all well… enjoy!_

*Maddy*

disclaimer:  I don't own the show.

**Good Enough**

_Hey your glass is empty   
it's a hell of a long way home   
why don't you let me take you,   
it's no good to go alone   
I never would have opened up,  
but you seemed so real to me   
after all the bullshit I've heard   
it's refreshing not to see   
I don't have to pretend   
she doesn't expect it from me_

            It was just another stupid party.  Another forced social event that no one really wanted to go to, but everyone did, because it was the only polite thing to do.  She scowled at her napkin, or the remains of it, twisted into a coil in her hand.  Actually, for her, it wasn't the polite thing to do, it was an obligation.  It was her parent's anniversary party; the daughter figure was probably a required guest.  She would have risked being impolite and skipped the whole thing if there had been any choice involved.

            She did a quick scan of the room.  Her husband, of course, was no where to be seen.  Probably chatting up the coatroom girl or one of the waitresses in the kitchen.  She knew he was good at that; it had worked on her.  Everyone was dancing, talking, or laughing, and it occurred to her that maybe other people weren't in complete hell.  Maybe this was actually a _good time_ for some of these people.  Had she ever been one of them?

            No one was really wondering where she was.  She figured she could probably just slip out and not be missed, but then she caught one person's eye in the crowd.  She wondered how long he'd been watching.

            Chandler felt his face get a little hot when he realized he'd been caught staring at her.  He knew what she was probably thinking, but it wasn't that at all.  Well, this time, anyway.  He was just wondering if she was okay.  She'd been sitting at the bar for almost a half hour, looking more miserable than he'd seen ever seen her.  He'd never known beauty to resonate from misery, but she never ceased to amaze him.  He gave her a little smile, threw his hands up in a 'you-caught-me' surrender, and made his way towards her.  She forced a smile back.

            "Bartender must be a real interesting guy," he commented as he approached, taking the seat next to her.  She raised an eyebrow inquisitively.  "Haven't seen you all night," he explained.  

            "Who, Tom?  Yeah, Tom and I are pretty tight now.  He's a singer, did you know that?  Yeah, mostly hip hop, but if you really get him going he's been known to sing a few show tunes," she deadpanned.  He grinned.

            "Need a re-fill, smartass?" he asked, indicating her empty glass.  She shook her head.

            "I'm cutting myself off."

            "Well that's just no fun."

            "Don't think it would be a blast either way, really," she said rolling her eyes.  She went back to twisting her napkin, and he looked at her curiously.

            "When did you get so sarcastic?" he asked.  

            "When did you?" she challenged.  

            "Touche," he grinned.  She felt herself smiling back, and for the millionth time in her life wondered how he could do that every time.

            "You gonna tell me what's up, or do I have to actually ask?" he said, touching her bare shoulder.

            "Nothing's up," she said.  He looked at her disbelievingly.  "Okay, nothing _new is up."_

            "Where's Richard?"

            "Don't know," she said, evading his eyes.

            "Have things gotten any better between-" he began, referring to earlier conversations the two of them had had on similar occasions.

            "Can we not talk about me and Richard?" she cut in.  "If that's all right."

            "Of course it's all right.  Mon… you can be honest with me, you know that, right?"

            "I'm only ever completely honest with you.  I lie to everyone else, but I save the really shitty stuff for you," she tried to joke.  He smiled a little.

            "I'm honest with you too, always, and I'm going to be honest right now.  He's an asshole, Mon.  Whatever happened, whatever he said, whatever he did… he's an asshole."

            "What happened to not talking about it?"

            "That's all I'm gonna say."

            "I want to go home," she said, placing the napkin on the bar. 

  
_  
Don't tell me I haven't been good to you   
don't tell me I have never been there for you   
don't tell me why   
nothing is good enough…  
Hey little girl would you like some candy   
your momma said that it's OK   
The door is open come on outside-   
no I can't come out today   
it's not the wind that cracked your shoulder   
and threw you to the ground   
who's there that makes you so afraid   
you're shaken to the bone   
and I don't understand   
you deserve so much more than this_

            After saying goodbye to her parents, her friends, and her brother, she asked Rachel to tell Richard she left (if she saw him, which she doubted she would) and she let Chandler take her home.  

            "Thanks," she said as they came to the front door of the apartment building she'd lived in for the past three years, across town from his own.  "I appreciate you walking me back."

            "Of course, any time.  I feel like the only time I get to be alone with you is walking back from somewhere."  She looked at him, and it seemed she was lost in thought, looking past him.

            "Yeah, I guess you're right."

            "Mon," he grabbed her elbow.  "Why the hell did you do it?  Why did you marry him?"

            "Chandler," she sighed, jerking her arm away from him.  "I'm not doing this anymore.  Haven't you had enough?" she said, and he could almost feel her exhaustion.  

            "No, I haven't.  You're miserable, Monica.  Admit it."

            "Whatever, yeah, I'm not happy.  That's not the end of the world.  Lot's of people don't have the perfect marriage."

            "Not like you.  I'm worried about you."

            She gave a short laugh.  "Too little too late Chandler.  Maybe you should have- never mind.  I said I wasn't doing this, and I'm not.  Goodnight," she turned to open the door.

            "You didn't answer me.  Why'd you do it?"  She turned slowly.  He felt like he was standing on dangerous ground staring into her eyes, which had darkened and were angry.

            "Why?  Why what, Chandler?  Why'd I marry him?  Why don't I leave?"

            "Yes."

            "I don't know.  To either question, I don't know anymore."  She sat down on the steps, in defeat.  He sat next to her.  They were silent for a while.

            "Mon, you deserve more than him."  She was quiet, and he saw her eyes fill with tears as she shook her head.

            "He tries, Chandler.  It's not always this bad.  It's just been a hard few months, that's all.  At work, and everything… I mean, marriages go through rough patches.  People fight, and they… stray.  And it doesn't make them bad, it makes them human," she said, trying so hard to convince herself she was right.

            "I don't want to hear the excuses he gives you.  I don't think you believe that either."

            "I don't know what I believe."  He laced his fingers gently through hers.

            "He's no good for you Monica."  She looked up at him tearfully and squeezed his hand.

            "Yeah, well… neither were you."

            They looked at each other sadly, each understanding she was right, each wishing she wasn't.  

            "I wish things had gone differently.  I'm sorry," he finally said.

            "Don't be sorry.  Not anymore.  It's over, its so far behind us," she said softly.

            No one spoke for a while.  She was so cold, she barely felt it when his hand that wasn't holding hers rested on her upper thigh.  She turned her head towards him; their faces were inches.  It had been years since they'd been this close, she thought, as he leaned in further, letting no confusion come of his intentions.

            "Chandler…" she said, trying to form the words to stop him.

            "It was a long time ago," he said, echoing her words.  "I'm good for you now."

            She shook her head, every part of her screaming out for him to touch her, kiss her, make it go away.  Time warp her back to when things were good, and they were happy.

            "Just let me try…" he whispered, closing the space between them and kissing her with everything he had.  And she let him.

  
  
_So don't tell me why   
he's never been good to you   
don't tell me why   
he's never been there for you   
don't you know that why   
is simply not good enough_

_so just let me try   
and I will be good to you   
just let me try   
and I will be there for you   
I'll show you why   
you're so much more than good enough..._

like it, want more, hate it, don't want me to write anything ever again… whichever, leave a review and let me know!

Peace out.


	2. It's No Good To Go Alone

A.N.  Hi again!  Thank you for all the reviews, I think that's the most I've ever gotten from a first chapter, so that was really great to see J  Here's the next part, as I've decided to continue it.  Enjoy!  Oh, and to everyone asking me for an epilogue to Two Against the World, I'm sort of stuck for ideas on that- I don't know I just really liked the way the last chapter ended, so unless I come up with something brilliant (and I am still thinking about it) I will just leave it as it is.  Anyway, read, enjoy and PLEASE PLEASE REVIEW!!!

Xoxo, Maddy.

_March, 1998_

          _"We really should write __England__ a thank you note or something," __Chandler__ said grinning, lying back against his pillow and snaking his arm around Monica.     _

_          She giggled.  "The entire country?  'Dear __England__… thanks for supplying us with alcohol and hotel rooms?"_

_          "Okay, maybe not all of __England__.  Just __London_?"____

_          "Dear __London__… yeah, that sounds better," she laughed._

_          "I can't believe that was two years ago already," he mused, shaking his head._

_          "Time flies when you're with me," she joked, poking his ribs._

_          "Maybe we should go back there someday, thank them in person," he murmered, kissing her hair._

_          "I think that would be the only polite thing to do," she agreed.  "Hey, who knows, maybe for our honeymoon?  That would be a cool story, wouldn't it?"  _

_The minute she said it, she wished she hadn't.  In the two years of their relationship, she'd been so good about suppressing comments like that, trying so hard not to freak him out.  It had just become so comfortable that she didn't even realize she was tiptoeing around it anymore; it was just something they didn't discuss.  She didn't know how it had slipped out tonight, but she felt the muscles in his arms sort of tense around her.  She tried to backpedal._

_"Well, I didn't mean like our honeymoon… like, someone's honeymoon.  It would be a good place to go.  Or something…" she trailed off.  He looked down at her, caught between his discomfort with the idea and his amusement at her attempts to fix it.  He finally forced a smile._

_"Are you hungry?" he asked.  She narrowed her eyes in confusion.  How had he gotten there?_

_"Um, sure," she said, even though she wasn't._

_"Let's get something to eat," he suggested.  "The pizza place should still be open."_

_"Okay…" she said uncertainly as he hopped out of bed and started dressing._

_And right then, she had this awful feeling.  That it was the beginning of the end._

_Present Day_

          "Wait," Monica mumbled against his lips, pushing him off of her.  "Wait," she repeated.  He brushed a strand of hair behind her ear.

          "Okay," he said, out of breath.  "I'm waiting."

          "I'm sorry," she said, tears filling her blue eyes.  "I just- I need a minute."

          "Hey," he said softly, pulling her towards him into a hug.  "Hey, no, it's okay.  Don't cry, I'm sorry.  That was- that was so far out of line.  I shouldn't have done that-"

          "I'm not sorry you kissed me," she said, barely audible.  "That's so awful.  But I'm not.  That's why I stopped you; not because I didn't want to be doing it.  But because I did."

          He didn't know what to say, so they didn't say anything.  She checked her watch.

          "2:30," she snorted.  "I'm sitting here feeling guilty, and it's 2:30 and he's not home.  And we both know he's not coming home."  Another tear fell.  He took her hand.

          "Let's go for a walk," he said.  

          They talked about everything on that walk, everything she was feeling, everything that had happened.  They walked and walked, until it was almost four, but neither was tired.  It was refreshing, energizing, to be able to talk like that, way into the night.  Like they used to, before- well, before everything.

          "When did this happen to me?" she asked suddenly.  "Sometimes I sit there, and I think, okay, if I can just pinpoint the _exact day, the very moment my marriage disintegrated, then I can fix it.  But I can't remember.  I can't even remember it ever not being like this."_

          "I know what you mean.  About trying to pinpoint a moment.  I do it all the time."

          "Do you?" she asked.  Somehow they had ended up outside his apartment, she noticed.  Outside her old apartment.  

          "Yeah.  Only for me, I can do it.  I can pick out the exact moment I would take back if I could."

          "Really?" she asked, suddenly trembling, because she knew which moment it was.

          "Yeah," he said, drawing her nearer to him in a tentative embrace.  "It was the day I lost you."

          She shook her head against his chest.  "What are you doing to me?" she asked hopelessly.

          He realized then, that it wasn't fair.  That the kiss they shared came at a price for her, was a risk for her, but not for him.  And that if he really loved her, he should leave her in peace, and not further complicate her life.  It seemed all he ever did was complicate her life.

**_March 1998_******

          _Monica lay awake that night, after pizza, after rolling slowly away from his embrace.  She listened to the rhythms of his breathing, tried to let it lull her to sleep, but it didn't.  She couldn't ignore what could only be described as a rising anger within her.  She loved him, more than anything, and still she had to keep part of herself away from him, she had to pretend not to be thinking things that she was.  That's not a relationship, that's dodging landmines, she thought to herself.  Did he think she was going to wait around forever?  _

_          But then she looked over at him, lying on his stomach, and he instinctively rolled over and reached around for her.  She watched his arms, unsuccessful in their unconscious search, give up and wrap around his pillow instead.  His eyes were closed peacefully, and there was a small smile on his lips.  She wondered what he was dreaming, if it was about her.  And right then, she knew; she would wait around forever for him._

**_Present Day_**

          They stood outside his building, locked in an embrace, for a really long time, each afraid to say something the other didn't want to hear.  Just when Chandler had decided he was content to hold her forever, just hold her, and put all thoughts of his wants and needs aside, she whispered something in his ear that made his heart stop.

          "Is Joey home?"

          How many times had she asked that question in the beginning of their love affair, when things were simple and fun and dangerous?  Just hearing them from her lips again was enough to send Chandler's hopes soaring.  He shook his head fervently.

          "Said he was sleeping out tonight."

          Monica wasn't exactly sure what had happened in the last two hours that made her reach up and kiss him as hard as she could, or why she suddenly knew that she had to go up with him, make love to him, wake up in his arms again.  Maybe it was the fact that she realized he was always there for her, when her husband was not.  Maybe it was knowing that her so-called husband was out there somewhere doing the same thing.  But more likely, it was that the kiss on her front steps had awakened a desire, a need she had for him, that she had spent three years burying deep inside.  

          Neither of them knew what was happening, but they both knew that it was about to get even more complicated.

DON'T FORGET TO REVIEW FOR ME!! HEHE.  THANKS.


	3. After All the Bullshit I've Seen

**A.N.****  Sorry for the delay guys, if you're still reading this.  Been kinda hectic over here.  I'm really tired and can't think of a clever author's note.  So just please review okay??? Thanks **J********

**Maddy****.**

"What time is it?" she asked quietly.  She knew he wasn't sleeping, that neither of them had slept a minute that night.  In fact, neither of them had said a word in hours; they'd just been lying there in his bed, knowing what the other was thinking without having to use words.

          "Five thirty," came his immediate reply.  His arms encircling her pulled her closer and she squeezed her eyes closed as she felt his lips on her shoulder.

          "Chandler?"

          "Yeah?" he replied, his head resting in the crook of her neck.

          "I just cheated on my husband."  He didn't say anything.  It was true, and she wasn't looking for a response.  Instead he kissed her shoulder again, brushed her hair with the back of his hand.

          She wondered why she didn't feel guiltier.  It was horrible; she was a good person, a person with morals, or so she thought.  And yet here she was, in another man's bed, and he was holding her and all she could think about was how right it felt.  

          "I don't feel bad about it," she admitted, barely a whisper.  

          "It's not like he's a pillar of monogamy himself, Mon," he finally said back.

          "Let's not justify it," she said.  "I can't justify it, all I know is that I wanted something, and for the first time in a while, I got what I wanted."

          "That makes two of us," he said with a smile.  "Listen, Mon, I know you didn't plan this and that you probably think it was a mistake- and that it probably was a mistake- but, I guess I just don't want you to leave without making sure you know."

          "That I know what?"

          He rolled away from her and stared up at the ceiling, holding her hand in his.

          "That I love you."

          She shook her head in frustration, sat up and started gathering her things.

          "Don't be angry," he pleaded.  "Come on, I had to say it.  I didn't want you leaving thinking I just wanted- that I only wanted…" he trailed off.

          "To get laid?" she finished, finding her discarded dress and pulling it over her shoulders.

          "I didn't want you to think that."

          "I didn't," she said.  

          "Okay, so… why are you leaving and why are you pissed?" he asked, reaching for her hand.  She sighed.

          "I'm not pissed.  I'm frustrated.  And I'm leaving because I've been out all night, I'm wearing the same clothes I had on at the party, and I'm married."

          "Frustrated why?  Monica, talk to me.  You were just fine," he said.

          She shook her head again.  "You love me.  That's just great Chandler, that's fabulous.  Where was that when we broke up?  Where was that for the entire year I was single before I started going out with Richard again?  Where was that when I got married, when you saw it was a mistake and I didn't?"

          "I was trying to let you live your life.  I wanted you to be happy.  Can't you get that?  Above my own happiness, I want yours."

          Her eyes filled with tears and she bent down to kiss him softly one more time.

          "You'll never understand that we might have both been happy, will you?" was her question as she straightened herself and left his room.

_April 1998_

_          He had just had probably one of the worst days of his entire life.  He had been an hour late to work, missed a crucial meeting, gotten reprimanded by a boss he hated at a job he hated, his mother was in town and had insisted on a simply painful lunch, it was pouring rain and snowing at the same time (so much for spring), and he couldn't think about anything except getting home, calling Monica, and complaining to her about it over pizza and ice cream._

_          They'd been dating for about ten months already, been public for less, but still, it was a long time.  He could feel himself, the past few weeks, getting panicked, wanting to run, and it scared him.  Lunch with his mother today was especially disturbing; she was in the middle of divorce number four, and his faith in commitment and life long relationships just wasn't what it should be; it wasn't what she deserved._

_          He walked into her apartment, wet, cold and looking as bad as he felt, because she looked up from the book she was reading and made an "oh no, poor you," noise._

_          "What happened?" she asked sympathetically._

_          "Worst day ever, I need pizza, I need the couch, I need dry clothes, and I need you," he said._

_          "Pizza's on its way," she said, "The couch is right there, but don't sit down until you get that dry clothes thing worked out… and you have me," she finished, ignoring the frozen wetness of his jacket and hugging him._

_          He wasn't listening, because the last part of his own statemtent was reverberating in his brain.  "I need you," he had said.  He hadn't realized how true it was until that moment.  How if they broke up- when they broke up, because let's face it, with him, it was inevitable- she wouldn't be there for him at the end of the day._

_          He remembered, as he went to his apartment to change his clothes, back to when they were "just friends".  He still would have gone right over there after the hellish day he had had.  She still would have comforted him, as she always did.  The evening they were about to share would be almost the same (minus anything sexual that happened).  He would still have her there._

_          Then he thought about an alternate reality, better known as the future, after what they had was over.  It would end messily, it always did when people loved each other and had a big history.  And she wouldn't be there.  They wouldn't even have the friendship.  He couldn't live without her, and he knew then, that he had to find a way to talk to her, to make her see.  As much as he wished he could spend the rest of his life with her- it wasn't worth the chance of spending the rest of it completely without her._

          Monica walked into her brownstone quietly and crept upstairs, wondering if he had come home at all.  It was quarter after six now, and he wasn't upstairs.  She came back down, thinking about how stupid she was to feel any guilt when he wasn't home either, and swung open the door to the kitchen.  She jumped when the opened door revealed Richard, sitting at the table, waiting for her.

          "Where were you?" he asked evenly.

          "Richard, I didn't think you were home," she said with all the calmness she could muster, what with it being dawn and still wearing her dress from the night before.

          "Of course I'm home, it's six am," he said.  She snorted.

          "Let's not pretend it's an 'of course' situation, okay?  What happened, was she married?  Did she have kids?"

          "Dammit, Monica, I'm so tired of your accusations!" he said, his voice raising.  "Honestly, look at us.  I'm sitting here, waiting for you, and you waltz in at six o'clock in the morning, wearing the same clothes you had on last night, and accuse me of cheating on you."

          "Wouldn't be the first time," she said through clenched teeth as she poured coffee into a mug.

          "You didn't answer my question.  Where have you been?"

          She smiled ironically.  "This is an interesting twist of events.  Role reversal.  It's good to change things up, keep us on our toes, don't you think?"

          "Stop being sarcastic and tell me where you were," he said, losing patience.

          "I was at Chandler's," she said.  Somewhere along the line, she'd learned that the best lies were closest to the truth.  "I drank too much at the party and Chandler took me home and let me sleep on his couch."

          "Why didn't he just bring you home?" Richard asked disbelievingly.

          "Because no one knew where _you_ were and he didn't want to leave me alone," she shot back, shocking herself at the ease with which the lie came out of her mouth.  His eyebrows unknitted, his mouth softened, and she knew he had believed her.

          "Mon, I'm sorry, okay, I swear I wasn't doing anything… I drank too much too, wandered around with some of the guys.  That's it."  He reached for her hand.

          "Okay," she said in response.

          "You believe me?"

          "Sure.  Why not," she said, taking her hand away and turning to leave the room.

          "Monica… don't be angry.  Come on.  You know I love you," he said.  She couldn't remember how many times he had said those words to her in the past three years.  This time, he said them to her back, as she walked out of the kitchen and upstairs without turning around.

**Don't forget… review review review!**


	4. The Wind That Cracked Your Shoulder

_A.N.__  Hey!!! Chapter 4, finally, FINALLY, I know I'm such a slacker, I'm sorry, I promise to try and keep the updates a little more frequent.  Things are nuts over here.  I hope you are still interested and that you like this part!!!  Thanks for the reviews, keep them coming please!!!  _

_Xoxo__, MADDY.___

Chandler was still lying exactly where Monica had left him nearly three hours earlier.  It was almost nine, and he could see through the slender gap between his curtains that it was gray and raining.  He closed his eyes and listened for the rhythmic sound of the drops hitting the windowpane, a habit he had learned from her.  She used to squeeze her eyes shut, and her nose would scrunch a little at the end, and she'd be concentrating so intently; it had become contagious.  He still listened whenever it was raining; he wondered if she did, too.

          The door creaked open slowly and Rachel stuck her head in.  He turned his head and nodded in acknowledgement.

          "Hey, did I wake you up?" she asked.

          "No, just lying here.  What's up?"

          "I have to go grocery shopping and I was wondering if you needed anything- wait, what's my bra doing on your floor?" she asked, confused, reaching down and producing what indeed was a black bra.

          Chandler froze, trying to find the correct response.  If he told her it wasn't her bra, she'd ask who's it was.  If he pretended it was hers, then why would it be in his room?  However, it didn't matter which he chose, because a flash of realization came over Rachel's face and she slammed the door shut and pointed at him accusingly.

          "Monica was wearing this!"

          "No, she wasn't!" he said, too quickly.

          "Yes she was, it's mine, and I lent it to her last night for the party, because she hates strapless bras and this one has clear straps, see?" Rachel said excitedly.  

          "Rachel, it isn't the same one, okay, maybe the company made _two_, in hopes to maybe turn a _profit_, ever think of that?" he covered desperately.

          "Yeah, you're right.  Clearly this is a different bra.  Even though it's my exact color, my exact size, and oh wait, yeah, definitely has my name written on the tag!" she said, thrusting the garment in his face.

          "Who writes their name in their bra?" Chandler said incredulously, defeated.

          "Someone really anal and obsessive who borrowed it from their best friend so they won't forget to return it!  Sound like someone you know?  Sound like someone you _slept with last night?" Rachel cried, hopping from one foot to the other._

          "Rachel, Rachel, please… please don't say anything, okay?  I don't know what happened.  It was a huge mistake."

          Rachel sat on the corner of his bed.  "I know you don't really think that."

          "Actually, I do.  She's married."

          "To the world's biggest asshole," Rachel declared uncharacteristically.  Rachel was usually the most tolerant of Monica's marriage, mainly because she wanted it to work out because she thought no one deserved that happiness more than her best friend.

          "She's still his wife," he said sadly.

          "How'd this happen?" she asked, not in the gossipy way he'd expected from her, but in the truly caring way only a friend could possess.

          "I don't know," he admitted.  "We were at the party, and she wanted to leave.  She was upset.  He was being a jerk, was nowhere around, and she didn't want to talk about it, so we went for a walk.  And then, I guess I kissed her."

          "You guess?"

          "I definitely kissed her."

          "Wow."

          "Yeah.  I told her the biggest mistake of my life was letting her go," he said, staring at his hands.

          "I'm sure she already knew that," Rachel said gently.  He looked at her.  "What, the rest of us know it."

          "She's amazing.  The whole thing… it was amazing." 

          "So what happens now?"

          "If I knew that, I wouldn't be lying here," Chandler told her honestly.

          Rachel stood.  "It's not fair to her."

          "It's not fair to anyone."

          "You're still in love with her," she said.  He nodded.  "Be careful.  She doesn't need to be hurt by you," Rachel said, purposefully not saying the word they both thought:  She doesn't need to be hurt by you, _again_.

          _"You're throwing all of this away because you're afraid?" Monica practically screamed at him.  _

_          "Monica, no!  I'm ending this before it gets thrown away because I do something stupid!  I'm not ready for this, okay?  I love you too much to lose you."_

_          "You're doing a bang up job, then," she said icily.  He reached for her arm, and she recoiled._

_          "Please.  I love you.  I've always loved you.  I'll always love you.  That's why I need you in my life.  Don't you ever… don't you ever get scared, that someday we won't even be able to be friends?"_

_          She held back the tears in her eyes and thought about it.  "Yes, I do.  I couldn't live without you," she admitted.  He reached for her again, and she let him hold her._

_          "You're my best friend," he whispered.  "Ross and Rachel took the risk, look what happened to them.  And we're such better friends than they ever were."_

_          "We wouldn't be like them," she said quietly, still a plea for him to reconsider even though she knew it was hopeless._

_          "I don't want to be like them.  I want us to be best friends, Mon.  You're everything that's good about my life.  I can't risk losing you."_

_          She pulled away and walked towards the kitchen, busying her hands with tidying the table._

_          "What are you thinking?" he said after several moments.  She looked at him sadly._

_          "I'm thinking that if this is what you want, I can't do anything to change it.  I'm thinking that I love you.  I'm thinking that I want you in my life, in whatever way you want to be in it."_

_          His heart broke looking into her eyes, knowing how much pain he was causing her because he felt the exact same way.  A small sob escaped her, and she apologized, turned and composed herself.  A tear slid down his cheek._

_          "So… how are we going to do this?" she asked.  "You walk out that door, and we pretend 'us' never happened?"_

_          "No.  I'll never forget what we've shared.  I think… what if we just didn't see eachother, at all, for a week.  Avoided all contact.  And then, in a week, we go back to being just friends.  Sort of like… a grace period."_

_          She took a shaky breath.  "Okay."_

_          "I wish-" he began._

_          "Please don't," she stopped him.  They stared at eachother across the room for a long time._

_          "I'm not going to hug you.  If I hug you, I'll kiss you," he said._

_          "Okay," she answered simply._

_          "I'm leaving now."_

_          She gathered all her strength she had left, and willed herself not to cry until he left.  "See you in a week," she said._

_          He looked at her one last time, tenderly.  "See you in a week," he echoed, letting the door close behind him.  The minute it clicked, Monica collapsed on the floor and started crying uncontrollably.  The sobs felt foreign to her; she couldn't remember the last time she cried so hard._

          Monica locked herself in the bathroom after the argument with Richard.  She ran a bath, but didn't get in.  She sat on the toilet seat and held her head in her hands, her mind reeling from the events of the night before, and all of the memories and feelings and needs it had unleashed.  

          She couldn't get his face out of her mind.  His beautiful, beautiful face… saying all the right things.  He was everything Richard wasn't, and he loved her more than she'd ever been loved.  Even when he was breaking her heart, he was still loving her.  She could feel it.

          And she didn't know what to do.  There really were only two options; divorce Richard, admit defeat, essentially "lose".  Or stay married, and push any of the hopes and desires that were stirring inside of her back down, back to where they had lived for the past three years.  Neither seemed particularly attractive at the moment.

          Richard knocked softly at the door.  "Mon?" he asked.  She stuck her hand in the water and moved it around, creating a hopefully realistic splashing sound.

          "I'm in the bath," she called, unsuccessfully trying to disguise the shakiness in her voice.

          "Rachel's on the phone," he said.  "Are you all right?"

          "Fine.  I'll call her back."

          "Okay.  She says it's important."

          "I'll call her back in five minutes," she called back desperately.  She barely recognized her own voice.

          "You sure you're all right?" he asked, still feeling guilty from before.  It wasn't like his wife not to take a phone call from Rachel.

          "_Fine_," she snapped.  He finally went away.

          "Okay Mon," she said under her breath.  "Now what?"

           _REVIEW please!!! Please please please.  The more reviews, the more inspired I will be to continue, heh heh heh._


	5. Shaken to the Ground

          **2 updates, 1 week- can you even believe it???  Haha.  Thank you all for reviewing the last chapter of this, and Long December!!!  Sometimes I just am really lazy and don't feel like updating and then I read how much people want me to, and it really does make me go faster!!  So thank you.  I hope this chapter makes you happy.  Read and review please!**

***Maddy***

It had been a week since "the incident", as Rachel now referred to it, and Chandler and Monica had yet to be in the same room together.  She busied herself with work, taking later shifts and skipping lunches, soon forgetting who it was she was avoiding; her husband, or Chandler.  Rachel, to her credit, had kept "the incident" a secret at the separate wishes of both parties.  She had managed to have one, very brief, conversation with Monica about the events of that night, but they were interrupted by Richard turning up at home early, and the two hadn't been able to finish the discussion.  

          It was weird not seeing any of them for a week; Monica couldn't remember if there was a time, besides her honeymoon, that she went that long without hanging out with at least one of them.  

          Thursday night, Richard's late night, had been the high point of her week for a while now, for too long- most couples fought about the spouse who kept late hours.  How twisted was it that she lived for Thursday nights now?  Tonight was a Thursday night like any other- she had big plans to curl up under a blanket on her couch with a glass of wine and do _nothing_.  No TV, no movies, no book, no newspaper, no music.  Just her, a couch, and nothingness.  

          But when she walked in from work, Richard was sitting on the nothingness couch, with this big stupid grin on his face while he watched her take off her coat.

          "What are you doing here?" she asked, barely managing to mask her immense disappointment.  He pretended he didn't hear it.

          "I took the night off.  It is Phoebe's birthday, after all, isn't it?  I thought you'd want us to be with your friends."

          Could it be that as wrapped up as she'd been in her own messed up life, she'd forgotten it was one of her best friend's birthdays?  She was a worse friend than she was ready to admit, so she told herself she'd remembered it was today, she just didn't know they were celebrating it tonight.

          "Did they call of something?" she asked.

          "When was the last time you listened to the answering machine?" Richard asked, hitting the play button on the table beside him.

          "Hey, Mon, it's your brother.  Just wanted to know what time you can make it on Thursday.  Call me back."

          "Monica, it's me," Rachel's voice came on the machine.  "Ross said he called about Phoebs' birthday dinner but you never called back- is your machine working?  Anyway, seven o' clock on Thursday, at the apartment.  Call so I know you got this."

          "Tonight at seven?" Monica asked.  "I haven't called back yet, that's so-"

          "Unlike you?  I thought so too.  Ran into Ross today.  I told him we could make it."

          Monica nodded briefly; she should say thank you, but she didn't even have the energy.  She was exhausted just thinking about the night that lay ahead, avoiding the topic of last weekend with Rachel, forcing herself to act like a wife to Richard, and seeing Chandler again.

          "Monica, what's going on with you lately?" her husband asked, touching her arm.  She pulled away quickly, and tried to hide the fact that she'd recoiled by scratching her ankle.  

          "Nothing.  Just busy at work.  I'm going to get dressed," she said, making her way towards the stairs.  The answering machine was on message nine now, and when that ended and number ten began, she made a definitely non-discreet beeline for the end table.

          "Mon, pick up the phone," Chandler said to the machine.  "Monica.  Come on, talk to me-" she cut him off abruptly, hitting the delete button.  Richard looked at her, surprised.

          "I heard that one," she tried feebly, hurrying to her bedroom and leaving her husband completely baffled by her behavior.

_May 1998_

_After the one week grace period had passed, __Chandler__ and Monica began hanging out together again, only in a group at first, then gradually one on one.  As dysfunctional as the plan had sounded, it had worked.  The two of them had been inconsolable for a week, refusing to see or talk to anyone, staying in their respective bedrooms and feeling horrible.  When the week was up, it forced them to live up to the bargain they had made, and for some reason, it worked.  There was no fighting, like with Ross and Rachel, no bitter comments, not even too much awkwardness.  It was as if their friendship had never developed into something more; it was like they time warped back to before __London__.  And even though they both felt a loss of something huge, they were comforted by the fact that they were keeping the most important thing; each other._

          "Happy Birthday, Phoebe!  How old are you, 23?" Richard asked jovially, kissing her on the cheek as they entered Apartment 20, now home to Phoebe and Rachel.  Monica suppressed an urge to roll her eyes; why was it that when Richard made jokes he only succeeded in making himself seem even older?

          Phoebe laughed politely and threw her arms around Monica.  

          "Hey stranger!" she exclaimed.  "I thought you might not make it."

          "I'm so sorry, Phoebe, I've been working nonstop this week.  Happy Birthday," she said, offering the card and gift (she'd at least had that in advance) that she was carrying.

          "No worries, I'm just glad you're here!  And we're all together!"

          "Yeah, all except Chandler," Ross commented as they sat down in the living room, and Monica let out an inaudible sigh of relief she didn't know she was holding.

          "Where is he?" Richard asked.  "It's not a party without the whole gang."  

          Monica wondered for a second if Richard could possibly be as clueless as he came off.

          "Oh, he just went to pick up the cake, he should be back any minute," Rachel said.

          "Really?" Monica asked, an edge of panic in her voice.  Joey stared at her.

          "Did you guys get in a fight or something?" he asked.

          Monica laughed her fake laugh.  "What?  No.  Why?"

          Joey shrugged.  "He's been avoiding you all week, you've been MIA, and you sound nervous that he'll be back soon."  Rachel stepped on Joey's foot as subtly as she could.

          "Since when did you start being observant?" Monica said irritated.  

          "What did you fight about, honey?" Richard asked, placing a hand on her knee.  She gritted her teeth and allowed it to remain there, for the sake of retaining an image of normalcy.

          "We didn't fight.  We've both been busy."

          "I'm going to check on the kieshes.  Mon, can you help me?  I'll mess them up," Rachel said.  Monica shot her the most grateful look possible and followed her into the kitchen.

          "Thank you," she whispered.

          "Of course.  Can we talk-"

          "Not now," Monica said, gesturing to the living room, where Joey was showing Richard and Ross how to play table football with a folded up napkin.

          "Okay.  Hey… what is Richard wearing?" Rachel asked, changing the subject.  Monica looked over, realizing she hadn't even noticed what he had on.  She rolled her eyes at what Rachel was referring to, the bright blue tie with the balloons on it.

          "Oh, that's his party tie," she said in disdain.  Rachel stifled a laugh.

_September 1998_

_"I can't believe she's dating again," __Chandler__ said glumly, confiding in Joey one night after several beers._

_"I can't believe she's dating him__ again," Joey replied.  "He's even older than he was the first time she went out with him."_

_"Thanks, that's helpful Joe," __Chandler__ said sarcastically._

_Monica had broken the news to him first, in their usual "friendly" way, of course, but she felt he should know before anyone else.  She'd run into Richard at some art exhibit, and he had asked her to go for coffee, which turned into dinner, which turned into "a night".  She hadn't relayed exactly what "a night" consisted of, and he didn't want to know.  She was dating Richard.  Again._

_And what could he say to her?  Of course he had to give her a hug, tell her he was happy for her.  That's what "friends" do, isn't it?  And so what if he thought for a second that he saw a flicker of disappointment on her face when he faked his enthusiasm?  He'd made his own bed, now it was time to lie in it._

_"I just can't believe it," he said again._

_"Dude, you broke it off.  What's she gonna do, wait around forever?"_

_Chandler__ peeled the corner of the label on his beer.  "No.  I know you're right.  It just feels soon."_

_"Well it'd be soon for a guy.  But I mean, come on, Monica's got a biological clock, and it's ticking."_

_Chandler__ looked at his friend incredulously.  "Where did you learn that?"_

_"I know stuff!" Joey replied indignantly.  "Oprah," he admitted off of __Chandler__'s disbelieving stare._

          Chandler swung open the door, holding the cake, and felt his heart thump faster in his chest than he thought could possibly be healthy when he saw her in the kitchen.  The door closed behind him, and he barely acknowledged the greetings of his friends (and Richard) sitting around the coffee table.  He absently kissed Phoebe on the cheek, gave her the customary birthday wishes, and awkwardly headed for the refrigerator with the birthday cake.

          "Hi Mon," he said once his back was to her and his head was in the refrigerator, moving stuff around to make room.  She tugged at the hem of her sweater and tried not to look at his ass.

          "Hey, Chandler," she managed.  

          "Your face is red," Rachel hissed in her ear.  Monica shoved her away and Rachel joined the party in the living room.  Chandler straightened, shut the refrigerator, and stood next to Monica at the sink.  She sort of pretended to cook something; he sort of pretended to help.

          "Are we going to ever talk about this, or are you going to keep avoiding me?" he asked her.

          "It's only been a week.  I thought that was our policy," she said with a sarcastic edge in her voice.

          "I left you 3 messages."

          "I haven't been home to check them.  Honestly, Chandler, I've just been working.  I'm sorry if you feel like I've been avoiding you."

          "Are you angry with me?"

          She softened.  "Of course not."

          He exhaled and closed his eyes, obviously relieved.

          "I'm just confused," she said, her eyes tearing.  He pulled her into an embrace.

          "It's okay.  So am I," he whispered.

          They held each other for a few moments, until Richard's voice made them spring apart.

          "Monica, are you all right?" he asked, playing the concerned husband, and trying to keep his eyes from shooting suspicious glares towards Chandler.

          "Yes," she said.  If he asked her that question one more time…

          "Hey, let's eat," Rachel said, to the rescue again.

          So they sat around the table and toasted Phoebe's birthday.  They joked, shared stories about their weeks, and ate.  And Monica sat with her husband on one side and Chandler on the other, Richard having no idea that the wrong man was squeezing her hand comfortingly under the table.   

**What did you think???  That was kind of long, was it not?  Review me!!!**


	6. The Door Is Open, Come On Outside

_Hey again!  Thank you soooo much for all the reviews!!!  They make me so happy and definitely make me go faster, haha.  I think there will be a few more parts left to this, so let me know how I'm doing again, seriously any comments you have will help me a lot.  Thanks for reading!  Love you guys!_

_*Maddy*_

Having to watch her leave the party with him was painful.  Their marriage was such a joke, such a complete failure, and anyone who knew them before would see it.    Seeing them together had always been difficult, yes, even hurtful at times, but now… now it was like it took all the restraint that Chandler had not to beg her to leave him (on a good day) or to kick him in the kneecap (on a bad day).  

            He continually replayed the night in his mind; Richard making annoying (how long ago was it that they all thought he was charming?) jokes, Monica smiling when necessary, Richard touching her shoulder, her knee, her lower back as he led her away… to the untrained eye, they were a normal couple.  

            The untrained eye hadn't spent the last three years seeing the other side, the side that stayed hidden in the sophisticatedly decorated, two-bedroom brownstone they shared, as far across town as Richard could get her to agree to.  The untrained eye hadn't been the shoulder she cried on every time Richard was unfaithful (at his last count, four times she could prove, two strong suspicions).  The untrained eye didn't know how it tore her up inside, the decision to marry Richard even though she knew they would never have a child, the one thing she had always wanted.  The untrained eye didn't know the half of it.

            "They seem to be getting along better," Ross had commented after the Burkes had left the apartment.  Phoebe and Joey voiced their agreement, while Rachel and Chandler stayed silent.  

            "But she seemed a little distant, didn't you think?" Phoebe asked.  

            "I don't know.  I think she's been really busy," Chandler said, always quick to defend.

            Ross rolled his eyes.  "Sorry, we forgot, nothing at all negative about Monica in front of her great protector."

            If only he could be, Chandler thought but didn't say.

            "Did you have a good time?" Richard asked as they unlocked the front door.

            "Yes, did you?" she answered.  'Good time' might be stretching it, if she were to tell the truth.  It had been wonderful to be with her friends for the night, and to see Chandler, and to realize that no matter what, he would always be there for her.  But the constant pretending that she was in a happy marriage, Richard's unrelenting attempts to fit in, and her paranoia about the two men in her life sharing the same sofa had given her a splitting headache, and all she wanted to do was lie down and sleep it off.

            "Sure.  It was good to see Ross again… he's doing well, isn't he?"

            "Yup," Monica said.  She tossed her keys on the hall table and began leafing through the mail.  He took off his jacket, and loosened that ridiculous tie.

            "So," he began casually, "what was that thing with you and Chandler?"

            She literally felt like her heart actually stopped.

            "What thing?" she asked calmly.  This was it.  He knew, and it was over, and they'd get a divorce and live unhappily ever after.

            "In the kitchen, tonight.  Joey said he thought you'd had a fight, and then you looked pretty upset.  And the hug…" Richard reminded her.  

            "Oh that.  It was nothing."

            "Monica I saw it, it was something.  Something's been bothering you.  Why won't you tell me?"

            She put the mail down on the table a little harder than was necessary.  "Why can't you just let it go?  I don't want to talk about it, okay?"

            His face clouded over and his eyes grew darker, and she knew then that they weren't going to be going to bed for a while.  It was argument time.

            "You don't want to talk about it, but you can talk to _him about it."  Richard said '__him' like the word was poisonous._

            She closed her eyes briefly.  "Are we really doing this right now?"

            "Yes, we're really doing this right now, because I _want to do it now," he said stubbornly.  "Do you think I really wanted to spend my night off at Rachel and Phoebe's, playing 'who's-got-the-funnier-anecdote'?  I did it because I knew it was something __you wanted, Monica.  I thought maybe it would make you happy, and maybe the iciness you have around me would go away for a second, even if it was only while we were there."_

            "And did it?" she asked.  It wasn't sarcastic or mocking; she really was curious to see if he bought her act along with the rest of her friends.

            "No.  No, instead, I watch you confide in him, and I watch him look at you all night and stare daggers at me, which is actually a pleasant change from the indifferent disgust he usually looks at me with-"

            "Richard, that's not fair," she tried to interrupt.  God, her head was pounding.

            "You're right, it's not fair.  It's not fair that he hates me so much it's uncomfortable to be in the same room, just because he's gotten a one-sided story of the past three years, and because you run over there every time things get hard," he said, raising his voice.

            "Is 'every time things get hard' a new euphemism for 'every time I sleep with another woman'?" Monica asked, her own voice raising to meet his.

            "Why do you think I did that, Monica?  Because I don't love you?  You know that's not true," he said, gaining momentum.

            "Do I?  Then please, enlighten me," she said sarcastically.

            "Do you have any idea, _any_ idea, what it feels like to marry someone you love so completely, and know that she wishes you were someone else?" 

            "Don't do that, Richard, do _not_ turn this around and make it _my_ fault," she said.  She was feeling guilty enough for her own adultery; she didn't need Richard pinning his on her, too.

            "The day of our wedding, I stood there and I watched you walk down the aisle, and you were so beautiful.  And then you stood there next to me, and all I could think about was our life together, and how happy you would make me.  And just before you said I do… do you remember what you did?" he asked.  His voice was less confrontational now, tinged with a hint of sadness.  She shook her head silently.

            "You looked at him.  You hesitated for a split second and looked past me… and I knew you were looking for him."

_            It had been kind of a whirl wind romance, in the words of her mother.  Six months of dating, and he had proposed; a three month engagement, and they were getting married.  And now, it was the morning of her wedding, and she was putting on her make-up, on the happiest day of her life.  She kept repeating that to herself, for some reason, like a mantra:  'The happiest day of my life, the happiest day of my life.'_

_            Chandler had knocked on her bedroom door, and she had assumed he was there to give her his best wishes, assure her that she was doing the right thing, and that he'd always be her best friend, and that he loved her.  That was what he was supposed to say._

_            Instead, he sat on the corner of her bed, watched her apply her mascara, in silence.  And when he finally opened his mouth, streams of words she didn't want to hear fell out like he had been trapping them there forever.  _

_            He had finished with, "Please, just reconsider, Monica.  I promise you, this is going to be the biggest mistake of your life."  The mascara discarded, and her mouth gaping, she had stared at him in disbelief._

_            "You're supposed to be my best friend," she said shakily, trying to keep the tears from falling._

_            "I am," he said quietly._

_            "You aren't.  You're just jealous, and you're trying to make me doubt this, so that I won't get married, and nothing will change, but that's selfish, __Chandler__," she cried.  "You didn't want me, and now you don't get to decide what happens when someone does."_

_            "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said anything," he mumbled.  He kissed her lightly on the forehead.  "Forget I was here, okay?"_

_            She had turned her back to him, in anger and sadness.  As he reached the doorway, she spoke without turning._

_            "You're still going, right?"_

_            He hesitated.  "Of course.  I'll be there," he said.  "With bells on," he added as a joke.  When she still refused to turn to face him, he left without another word._

            "Are you going to tell me I imagined it?" Richard challenged.

            She shook her head slightly.  "No.  I did look towards Chandler.  But… it wasn't because I didn't love you," she said.  His face softened a little, right before she added, "You took care of that all on your own."

            He threw up his hands in defeat.  "So what are you doing here, then?  If you're never going to forgive me for… indiscretions committed in the past, what are you doing with me?"

            She stared at him for what seemed like forever.  "I don't know," she admitted finally.

            Rachel woke to someone knocking on the front door at two thirty in the morning.  She rolled over and tried to tune it out; maybe Phoebe would get it.  After a few more moments, she groaned and pulled herself up, wondering who the hell would be knocking right now.

            "Sorry.  I forgot my key," Monica whispered.  Rachel blinked tiredly, not registering what was going on, until she noticed the bag in her best friend's hand, and the puffy red eyes of someone who'd been crying.  She ushered her in wordlessly, sat down on the couch and pulled her into her arms, and let her cry.

_And where do you think you're going?  Review first!  Haha.  No.  You don't have to.  I'd like it if you did, though.  ;)_


	7. Why Is Simply Not Good Enough

A.N.  Hey everybody… I am so sorry about how long this has taken me to write.  The only explanation I can offer is that I've been dealing with a lot of family stuff right now and haven't had time to do much of anything.  Things seem to be settling down so I'm hoping to finish this story before school starts again.  If you haven't completely lost interest, I hope you enjoy chapter 7!  Read and please review!

Love, Maddy.          

                Chandler had been up the entire night feeling literally sick since watching Richard and Monica go home together after Phoebe's birthday party.  He had finally forced himself to crawl into bed around one, and had laid restless for another two hours.  The phone was ringing now, and its shrill interruption was the only thing that showed him he had fallen asleep at all.  It felt like he had only blinked, but the clock reading six forty five insisted he had been sleeping for almost three hours.  Groggily, he pressed the talk button on the phone and hoped whoever was on the other end had a really good reason for the early morning wake up call.

            "Hello?" he asked into the receiver.

            "Put Monica on the phone," an angry voice barked back.

            "What?" he asked, trying to shake exhaustion and confusion.

            "Don't bullshit me Chandler, I don't have time for this," the man said impatiently.

            "Richard?"

            "Who the hell do you think it is?" Richard said coldly.

            "Mon's not here," Chandler said, still confused.

            "Oh she's not," Richard replied sarcastically.  "I'm sure."

            "I don't think she's here… I've been sleeping, but maybe she's out in the living room."

            "Why don't you go ahead and check," Richard snapped.

            "Richard, what the hell is going on?" he asked, irritated, as he opened the door to reveal the empty and still dark living room.  "She's not here, did she say she was coming over?"

            "She doesn't have to tell me where she's going anymore."

            Chandler's heartbeat increased slightly.  "What does that mean?"

            "It means both that she is no longer required to tell me where she's going, and that after three years I've sort of caught on to the pattern anyway."

            "Listen, Richard, it's not even seven am yet, so if you want to actually tell me what's going on, fine, otherwise you're gonna have to make accusing phone calls to someone else."

            "Just tell her I'm on the phone," Richard snarled.

            "She's not here.  I can say it again, if you want."

            "You're lying.  Chandler just put my wife on the goddamn phone."

            Chandler rolled his eyes and sighed.  "I'll check Rachel's, hold on a second."

            It wouldn't have been the first time Richard and Monica had gotten in a fight and she had showed up at his apartment in the middle of the night, so he understood Richard's refusal to believe she wasn't there.  Monica showing up at Rachel and Phoebe's would have been slightly more unusual, but again, not unheard of.  Chandler braced himself for the wrath of a prematurely woken Rachel and opened the door with his spare key.

            "The living room is dark, Richard, it doesn't look like she's here," Chandler said through gritted teeth as Rachel hurried out of her bedroom shushing him.  

            "You know what, fine.  Tell her I called," Richard said angrily, followed by a dial tone.

            "Would you be quiet?" Rachel hissed, and he realized she hadn't been sleeping at all.

            "What are you doing up?  And what the hell is going on?" he stage whispered as she grabbed him by the arm and dragged him into the hall.

            "She just fell asleep, can we keep the noise to a minimum?" she asked, frustrated, as the door closed behind them.

            "Monica?  She's in there?  What happened?"

            "Maybe she should tell you herself," Rachel said hesitantly.

            "Rachel…" Chandler warned.

            "She left him."

            Chandler stood there gaping at her for several moments.  

            "Left?" he finally managed.  She nodded.  "Why?"

            "She can tell you that herself."

            "Rachel, please.  Was it… for me?" he asked.  Rachel avoided his gaze.

            "It's complicated, Chandler, she's completely wrecked… we've been in my room talking for about five hours straight and she finally passed out about twenty minutes ago."

            "Why didn't she tell me?" he asked, for the first time realizing that he was hurt that she went to someone else first.

            Rachel looked at him pointedly.  "It's not all about you," she said bluntly.  "But in this case, it's too much about you for you to be the one she talks to about it."

            "So it _is_ about me?" he asked, his hopes again rising.

            "I'm not doing this.  It's not sixth grade.  You'll have to talk to her yourself."

            "Fine."

            "Fine," Rachel echoed.

            "How long do you think she'll sleep for?" he said after a moment.

            Rachel made a frustrated noise and walked back into the apartment, Chandler at her heels.

            "We might as well make a pot of coffee, since we're both…" he trailed off as he looked up from opening the door and saw Monica standing in the kitchen, filling a glass with water.  She had on a pair of Rachel's pajamas, and her hair was pulled into a loose ponytail behind her head.  Her gaze fell upon him as he walked in the door, and he saw that her eyes were glazed and red rimmed from crying and exhaustion.

            "Hi," he offered finally.

            "Hey," she replied quietly.

            "You're up," Rachel said, rubbing her back sympathetically.  "That wasn't long."

            "I couldn't sleep.  Why are you holding the phone?" she asked Chandler.  He looked down at the cordless phone in his hand.

            "Oh… uh, Richard called.  For you.  Before," he stammered.

            "Oh," she said, staring at her bare feet.  "Did you… I mean, did he tell you…"

            "I did," Rachel interrupted.  Monica looked at her in alarm.  "Not everything."

            "Hey… do you want me to go?" Chandler asked her softly.  The distance from the couch to the sink had never felt so far as it did to him at that moment.

            "No," she said quickly.  "Please, don't go."

            Rachel excused herself to lie down in her room.  Monica and Chandler stared at each other in awkward silence.

            "Before you say anything, I need to know something," he said.  She nodded.

            "Is it because of what happened, with us, last week?"

            "Because of what?" she asked.  "Because we had sex, or because you told me you want me again?"

            He shrugged.  "Both.  Either."

            She exhaled shakily and sat down at the table.  "No.  That's not why."

            He hesitated for a moment, and then went to sit with her.  "I don't know if I'm relieved of disappointed."

            "It just got to the point where I couldn't remember any of the reasons we were together," she said, looking him in the eyes for the first time since the conversation begun.

            "So you left for good?  You're not going to change your mind this time?" 

            "It's over, Chandler," she said quietly.  Tears stung her eyes and nose and she couldn't will them not to fall.  He scooted closer and put an arm around her shoulder, because he couldn't think of a single appropriate thing to say.

            "That's the first time I said it out loud," she explained, sniffling.  "My marriage is over," she repeated.

            "This is a good thing," he finally said.  She looked at him.  

            "My failed marriage is a good thing?" she asked sarcastically.  

            "Yes, it is, and not just for me."  She looked at him quizzically.  "Look, Monica, I don't know if this means that we have another chance here, or if you and I were supposed to be together back then.  But I do know that you and Richard _weren't_.  And I know that what happened last week probably sucked, a lot, for you-"

            "It didn't suck," she interrupted.  He silenced her with a gesture.

            "Okay, it didn't suck at the time.  But it caused a lot of problems, a lot of anxiety you didn't need.  And that was my fault.  But the other thing I know, is that I meant every single thing I said that night.  Letting you go was the biggest mistake of my life.  I love you, I've only ever loved you, and I can't see myself loving anyone else.  It wasn't the time for us five years ago, and it may not be the perfect time for us right now, but I'm not giving up on us, and if I ever do get you back… I'm never letting go."

            His words touched her in a way she wasn't expecting, and she broke down crying in his arms.  He held her as she sobbed for the marriage that was over, the years that were wasted, and the bitterness of bad timing that seemed to sum up their entire relationship.  She just let him hold her while she cried herself out, the hot tears running themselves dry and leaving her feeling empty and numb.

_Will Monica and Richard go through with the divorce?  Will __Chandler__ and Monica ever get together?  Have Ross, Phoebe and Joey died?  Review if you are interested in learning the answers to these burning questions __J_


	8. Oh So Just Let Me Try

**Hey readers!!!  I'm back with chapter 8.  I think there will probably be one more chapter to this story, and probably and epilogue, if I get enough reviewers that want one!  This is a little short but I'm running out of material and I wanted to split the ending into two parts.  I hope you like it!!!**

**Xoxo,**

**Maddy.   **

                Three days had passed since Monica had walked out of her apartment with zero intentions of ever returning, and the reality had set in that she only had one pair of jeans and an NYU sweatshirt until she did.  She couldn't steal Rachel's clothes forever, so Thursday afternoon, she took a cab back to the Park Avenue pre-war building she had never quite been able to call home.

                "Mrs. Burke," the doorman greeted her, nodding his head with a friendly smile.

                "Hi Steve," she replied, forcing her own tight lipped smile and gathering the strength to stride through the lavishly decorated lobby to the elevator, as she had done every day for years, but now feeling like a stranger.

                It had taken some work to get Monica to agree to moving so far uptown, but Richard had used his recent substantial pay increase to purchase a gorgeous, rent-controlled two story penthouse that no one in their right mind could ever have refused.  She stood frozen outside the mahogony frame of her front door, finally extracting the keys from her pocket and sliding the door open.  

                The living room was a mess, but it didn't even bother her.  This wasn't her home anymore.  Richard's cigar butts littered the ashtry on the coffee table and half empty cups of coffee were left in the kitchen.  The sports page from two days ago was spread on the counter, with toast crumbs and a knife with peanut butter on it covering the headline.  She broke from her trance like state and reminded herself that she was here for a reason.  

                Upstairs in their bedroom, the mess was no better, but she moved around it almost as if it wasn't there.  Two suitcases (from their luggage; monogrammed with both their initials, given to them as a wedding gift from her parents) were quickly filled with her clothes and shoes.  She still left half of what she owned in their closet, but until she figured out what was going to happen, she'd be fine with what she managed to fit in the suitcases.

                As she was about to flip the lightswitch on her way out, her gaze fell upon something white next to Richard's pillow on the unmade bed.  She reached out to investigate, and as she turned over the small white rectangle, she saw that it was a picture.  It was a photograph of her, smiling on a vacation to Bermuda they had taken the summer before, and the sight of it combined with the all-to-familiar surroundings made her feel hot and choking, like the walls were closing in on her.  She fled the apartment without locking the door, flew past Steve ignoring his offers to help with her bags, and ran almost six blocks before hitting something solid, something that grabbed her arms as she began to fall.

                "Mon?" the something asked with concern.  She looked up, out of breath and dizzy.

                "Chandler!" she sighed in relief.  "Hi, I was just… picking up some things," she said and tried to stand, only to stumble into his arms again.

                "Monica, what happened, are you all right?  You're shaking and your face is white as a sheet," he panicked.

                "I'm fine," she said, taking three deep breaths.  She straightened herself off of him and picked up the suitcases that had been discarded in the excitement.  "Really, I'm okay.  I had this sort of… episode, at the apartment, but I'm better now.  Really," she insisted off his hesitant look.

                "If you're sure… here, let me take those," he said.

                "No way, you're going in the opposite direction.  I'll just grab a taxi."

                "I'm going back with you," he said firmly.

                "Chandler…"

                "Mon.  I'm coming back with you.  Let's go," he said, grabbing a suitcase in one hand and her hand in the other.

                "Is she okay?" Joey asked after Chandler relayed the story to the gang while Monica rested in her room.

                "I think so, but she said she got all sweaty and felt like she was being suffocated… she looked like hell when she ran into me," he said, looking to them for reassurance.

                "Sounds like a panic attack," Ross said.  "Our mom used to get them."

                "Poor Mon," Phoebe said.

                "I'm glad she's doing better.  I thought something happened, with Richard, when I first saw her."

                "Richard's a jerk, but he's not a batterer," Rachel said.  They all nodded.

                "Anyone know what's going on there, anyway?" Joey asked.  All eyes fell on Chandler.

                "I really don't know any more than you do," he insisted.  They raised their eyebrows, almost in unison.  "Seriously.  She left him, he's been calling a million times a day, and she went to get more of her stuff.  That's all I know."

                They believed him, even though he wasn't being entirely truthful.  Only Rachel knew that Chandler and Monica had slept together again, and although she said he wasn't the reason, it was definitely a factor that the group would be interested in knowing.

                "My dad's been calling my cell phone about every half hour," Ross said in exasperation.  "Richard's been calling him trying to get him to make her talk, and my dad's not telling my mom until Monica does.  So basically, my mom's never going to know, Monica's never going to see my parents again, and my dad's never going to stop calling me to make sure she's okay."

                They talked for about another hour, about Monica and about other random topics, until everyone got hungry and decided to go out for pizza.  Chandler declined, saying one of them should be around in case she got up.  

                He made her grilled cheese, his specialty, and brought it in with a class of orange juice.  She was sleeping, so he just put it on the end table.  He should have left, but something about the way she looked when she slept had always captivated him.  Instead, he sat on the edge of her bed gingerly, so as not to wake her, and watched her for a while.  It could have been a minute or five minutes that he sat there looking at her body curled up into a ball, the way she always slept, studying the light dusting of freckles across the bridge of her nose, her slightly parted pink lips and her long black eyelashes.  Before he knew what he was doing, his hand was reaching out and stroking her hair, pulled back from her face loosely in a ponytail.  Her eyelids opened slowly, revealing the bluest eyes he had ever known anyone to have.  He pulled away his hand as if burned and apologized.

                "Sorry… I was bringing you something to eat and I… I'm sorry," he babbled.

                She smiled.  "Thank you," she said, sitting up a little.  "I was dreaming about you," she added.

                He smiled widely.  "You were, were you," he said.  "I dream about you all the time."

                "It wasn't that kind of dream," she said with a laugh, rolling her eyes.

                "How do you know what kind of dream I'm talking about, _concieted_?" he asked indignantly.  She looked at him pointedly.  "Yeah, okay," he said laughing, looking down at his hands.  

                She reached over and played with his fingers slowly, and without looking up admitted "I have those too," with a shy smile.  

                He squeezed her hand and grinned, then pointed to the food.  "You should eat," he said.

                "I'm too tired to eat," she protested, laying back and closing her eyes.

                "Okay, I'll let you sleep a little more, but then you're eating something."

                "Fine," she agreed, opening her eyes slightly.  "Chandler?"

                "Hm?"

                "Thanks.  For… everything."

                "My pleasure," he said.  He leaned closer, aware that her hand was still wrapped around his, and planted a kiss on her right cheekbone.  Then one on her left cheekbone.

                "Remember that thing you told me, after we… you know?" she asked.

                He pecked her forehead.  "Yeah."

                "Me too," she murmered, because his lips were suddenly on her neck, and neither really knew how they got there.

                "You too what?" he asked, trailing kisses from her ear to her collarbone.

                "I love you too," she said breathlessly, finally finding his lips with her own in a searing kiss.  Her hands wandered over his body hungrily as they let themselves get carried away by the moment.  

                "Are you sure about this?" he asked between kisses as things were escalating.  He prayed to god she would say yes, because he wasn't sure he could stop even if he wanted to.

                "Yes," she said heavily in his ear.  "I'm not sure about anything, but I'm sure about you."


	9. I Will Be Good For You

**_A.N._****_Hi everyone!!! Okay here's the last chapter of this story, except for a possible epilogue that I'm considering.  Thank you so much for all the reviews, for the last chapter and throughout!!  Oh, and thanks to everyone who reviewed Long December, a fic I thought I was going to turn into a series about two months ago and just was unable to handle doing 2 at once with everything else that's going on right now.  So when this is finished maybe I'll go back to that.  Or maybe I'll start something completely different, who knows.  Anyway enough of my rambling!!!  Read, enjoy and REVIEW!!! (please)._**

          "Okay, don't you think that things are moving just a little fast?" Rachel asked, trying to keep all judgement out of her voice.  She and Monica had finally had a chance to sit down and talk about everything that had been going on the past few weeks, and to Monica's surprise, Rachel wasn't quite as receptive as she had hoped.

          Six days had passed since the panic attack incident, and Chandler had stayed over in her room every single night.  The last screaming phone call from her soon-to-be ex husband had been three days ago, when he was instructed by his lawyer to cut off all contact.  To Monica's amusement, he and his attorney seemed to think she was after his money.  Whatever.

          "Fast?  Come on, Rach, look at the big picture… between Chandler and I, nothing has ever been fast.  Everything is _painfully slow.  That's the __problem."_

          "I'm not talking about being friends for a million years before you got together the first time, Mon, I'm talking about the fact that your marriage isn't even legally over, and that you broke things off less than a week ago," Rachel said gently.  Monica crossed her arms, and considered her friend's words.  

          "Listen," Rachel continued, tucking a piece of Monica's hair behind her ear.  "No one- and I mean no one- wants to see you and Chandler together more than I do.  Okay?  You guys are just… meant to be, in every sense.  I just don't want to see you get hurt."

          "Yeah… but Rach, you just said it.  We're meant to be together.  And I don't know, I know this isn't like me, and I know it's kind of risky and that Richard is definitely going to be pissed off and think I've been having an affair for years, but… don't you think we've wasted enough time already?" she asked, her eyes pleading for understanding.

          Rachel swallowed her doubts and fears along with her concern for the rapid decisions her best friend was making, and realized that nobody was going to change her mind, and that maybe this time, nobody should even try to.

          "I'm happy that you're happy," she said.

          Monica grinned.  "Me too."

          "Hey, where's Mon?" Chandler asked nearly a week later.  The group was at the coffee house, after listening to another original ballad by Phoebe.  It was amazing how much it felt like old times; Monica was back.  She was his again.  He couldn't believe how perfectly everything was turning out.

          "She's probably still at Richard's," Phoebe said absently.  Chandler's back straightened, and he pulled to loosen his collar.

          "Um, what?" he asked.

          "Nowhere," Rachel said quickly.  He shot her a look, and she sighed.  "She didn't tell you because she didn't want you to worry.  She's just getting him to sign the divorce papers," she explained.  "Way to go, Phoebs," she muttered under her breath.  Phoebe looked appropriately ashamed of her slip up.

          "Why wouldn't she just _tell me that?" Chandler asked, his nerves slightly calmed by the phrase 'divorce papers' but disturbed nonetheless._

          "Why wouldn't who tell you what?" asked Monica as she approached and sat on the arm of his chair.  He jumped up.

          "Why wouldn't _you tell_ me_ that you were seeing Richard?" he snapped._

          Monica groaned.  "Ugh, way to go Phoebe," she said rolling her eyes.

          "Hey!  You don't know it was me!" Phoebe defended.

          "It _was," Rachel reminded her._

          "Still!"

          "I can't believe you would choose not to tell me that," Chandler said, shaking his head.

          "Because it was no big deal and I didn't want to go through _this_," Monica explained.

          "I don't care, you're supposed to tell me this stuff, okay Mon?" he said, raising his voice.

          The other four chorused excuses about having to leave and made a very quick exit.  Monica looked at him, sat on the couch, and held out her hand.

          "Sit down," she said.  He grudgingly complied.

          "Listen to me.  I had to go see him to get this," she said, pulling papers out of her bag.  "I didn't want to put it off any longer."

          "He signed?" Chandler asked, fingering the pages.  She wove their hands together.

          "Yeah.  He did.  I'm sorry I didn't tell you, I just… I thought he should get the divorce papers from me, not some courier.  I wanted to watch him do it.  I don't know, call it closure, call it whatever you want.  I'm sorry, but I didn't tell you because it really had nothing to do with you.  It was my problem, my problem that I'm fixing, and I want to keep it mine.  Separate from us."

          "You can't do that, you can't separate me from a part of your life."

          "Yes, I can, and I want to.  Chandler…" she searched for the right way to voice what she was feeling, "I don't want the beginning of the rest of my life to be associated with the end of a really bad mistake that I made.  Marrying Richard when I was young and stupid I can accept.  Combining the painful end of that with something… amazing, something I'm never going to let go of… I can't do that.  Please understand."

          He thought about her words.  "I understand," he said finally.

          "Really?" came her hopeful reply.

          "Really," he said.  He touched her cheek gently.  "I love you."

          She kissed him.  "I love you too."

          "So, how did it go?"

          "Not too bad.  It was pretty civil.  Very professional, pen and paper stuff."

          "No begging you to come back?" Chandler asked, only half kidding.

          "No.  He knows it's over.  I think… we both just want to make our peace with it and move on."

          "Does he know about us?" Chandler asked, drawing shapes on her thigh with his index finger.

          "I didn't tell him.  But I think he knows.  Has always known."

          "Well, I'm glad that part is over," Chandler said. 

          "Me too," she agreed.  

          "Hey… I'm sorry I freaked out.  I just, I don't know, you're kind of important to me I guess," he joked.

          "It's okay.  Really," she assured him, and kissed him again.

          "Hey, I was thinking.  And, you can totally say no, okay?"

          "Okay…" she said suspiciously.

          "This morning, when I woke up and you had already left, I felt really empty, more alone than I've ever felt.  And that's when I thought about it… I don't ever want to sleep in a bed without you again," he said, holding her hand.

          "That's really sweet," she smiled.

          "I'm not finished.  I want you to be with me, all the time.  When I wake up, when I come home, when I go to bed.  So I was thinking… what if we lived together?"

          He tried for several moments to read her expression, and failed.  When he couldn't take it anymore, he broke the silence.

          "What are you thinking?"

          "I'm thinking… I'm wondering about something Rachel said," she admitted, looking down.

          "What?"

          "She thought we were moving to fast, and I don't know, I didn't think so, but maybe she's right.  My marriage is like, _ barely over…"_

          He nodded, disappointed.  "Okay, I see what you're saying… and I agree that for anyone else, this _would_ be fast.  But- and I'm really not trying to pressure you here- I just think that if you look at the whole picture, this has been about 13 years in the making, you and me."

          She grinned.  "That is _exactly_ what I said!"

          "Really?  So now what are you thinking?"

          "I'm thinking I want to wake up next to you, too," she said quietly.  "Rachel's wrong."

          "You won't regret this," he told her, unable to wipe the smile from his face.  "I'm going to be good for you."

          "You're already great for me," she told him.

          And they kissed a kiss that was thirteen years in the making.

_Okay, that's it for now!!!  Please let me know what you thought!!!_

_Xoxo, thanks for reading_

_MADDY_


	10. Epilogue

**_A.N._****_  Thanks for waiting, you guys… here's the epilogue to Good Enough, I hope you like it.  Please review when you're done!!  I love getting your feedback.  Also, I'm sort of at a crossroads here; I don't know whether to continue Long December or let it go.  I have a direction I am thinking of heading with it, but it might suck, so… and also, I might just want to start on something new, although I'm sort of stuck for ideas right now!!  So if you want, tell me what to do in a review!!! (I can't promise I'll do it but hey at least you get to be bossy for a minute without feeling guilty, right??)_**

****

**_Sorry that was SO long!!!  Have a good one!_**

**_~Maddy._**

****

            Chandler didn't even know he was reaching for her until he realized she wasn't there.  He sat up and looked around, his eyes slowly adjusting to the darkness of the room, the sliver of silvery light from a gap in the curtains slicing through the blackness of early morning.  The clock read 3:14.  

            He stood on sleepy legs and made his way out to the living room.  He rubbed his eyes and grinned when she didn't notice him standing there.  She was laying on the couch, the baby sleeping peacefully on her stomach as she watched her intently, rubbing soft circles on her back.  He had honestly never seen her look more beautiful, and he told her so.

            She looked up at him and smiled wryly.  "I'm sure.  I haven't slept in about 48 hours, I'm wearing one of your t-shirts that probably should have been washed a week ago, and I have baby drool on the side of my neck."

            He shrugged.  "You're gorgeous.  You and my daughter."

            "Well, we won't argue with that," Monica said, gazing down at the baby. 

            "What are you doing out here?"

            "I just wanted to watch her for a while, I guess," she said.  He sat down on the floor beside his wife and kissed her on the forehead.

            "It's late," he told her.

            "I know, I didn't want to wake you."

            "You didn't.  I woke up when I reached over to you and you were gone.  I didn't know I did that in my sleep."

            "You definitely do," she said.  "All the time.  I'll wake up in the middle of you dragging me across the bed," she teased.

            "I wake you up like that a lot?" he asked, surprised.

            "It's fine," she said, giving him a kiss.  "It's my favorite way to wake up."

            He smiled.  "Ariel seems to be sleeping like a champ.  What do you say we head back to bed and I'll try out a new way to wake you up?" he asked, wiggling an eyebrow comedically.  She laughed, causing the Ariel to bounce slightly.  She yawned, stretched out an arm, and relaxed again.  Monica sighed and stroked her head.

            "I can't believe I almost missed this," she said.  Chandler was looking only at her when he answered.

            "You know, I have that thought every morning when I wake up, and most nights when you fall asleep in my arms," he told her. 

            "You're very sweet," she said.

            "Come on," he said, rubbing her arm.  "You're gonna be wrecked in the morning."

            She nodded, and he carefully lifted Ariel and carried her back to her crib.  When he walked back into their bedroom, Monica was already under the covers, on his side of the bed.

            "What do you think you're doing?" he asked with mock anger as he climbed across the bed to her on hands and knees.

            "I just thought I'd save you some energy and start out over here," she said.  He lay down next to her and enveloped her in his arms, and she rested her head on his chest.  

            "Hey, you know what?" she asked, entwining their fingers.

            "Hmm?"

            "Remember when you wanted to take that weekend and go to Vermont but I wasn't ready to leave Ariel?"

            "Back in January?  Yeah."

            "Well, I was talking to Rachel, and… she really wants some time to just bond with her, you know?  And I trust Rach with her.  I realized that the other night, when we were out to dinner.  I think I'm ready."

            She felt his lips curl into a smile against her head.  "I can't wait.  I'll book the reservation in the morning."

            They talked for a few more minutes, about the weekend, about Ariel, and about their friends.  Chandler finally felt her breathing become rhythmic and her body relax futhur, and he knew she had fallen asleep.  He felt the gentle beat of her heart and matched his breathing to hers.  He imagined he could feel his daughter's heartbeat through the wall. He had almost missed everything, like she said…. But he had been lucky.  Three hearts pulsing simultaneously.  His family.

**_Okay so that was a little short and WAY sappier than I intended, but I felt that I put them through enough angst with this series and it was time for them to just be happy _****_J_****_  Hope you liked it!!!  Review please._**


End file.
